


Slowly, Through a Vector

by dawniekins18



Series: Considering Things So Far [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawniekins18/pseuds/dawniekins18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things aren't supposed to be this bad all the time</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slowly, Through a Vector

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how this relationship will actually turn out, but I feel this is an optimistic perspective. Which does not bode well.

Things aren’t supposed to be this bad all the time. His life is split into good moments and hard years. The bad times always much longer and grimmer than the good. Normal people have good times and bad, or so Ian hears. But here he is on day fucking three of being unable to get out a bed that doesn’t even belong to him. He has barely moved and Mickey has gone from annoyed, to angry, to desperately worried, and back to angry again. He’s bribed, pleaded, screamed, and brought in every Gallagher he could find. Ian still can’t move. Breathing feels like effort. 

Ian knows he’s gotta get out. He’s not gonna Monica out on Mickey like this. It just isn’t fair.

Mickey has been watching him pretty closely, especially after Fiona’s visit and attempt to get him moving. Thanksgiving probably came up. All roads seem to lead back there for them. But now, considering Ian hasn’t done anything in days, Mickey finally needs to make a run for smokes. And food probably, not that Ian has had the ability to open his mouth, let alone eat.

“I’ll be back in ten fuckin’ minutes. Don’t go anywhere and stay away from the kitchen. I fuckin’ mean it.”

Apparently hiding the knives is still on the to do list. 

Mickey pauses at the door. “Ten. Minutes.”

Ian waits until he hears the front door slam, and then begins his attempt to get out of the bed. The ability to move never felt like something to be grateful for. but putting on his clothes feels like completing a triathlon. If Monica has ever felt half as shitty as he does now, he feels he understands her in a way he never thought he would. 

It’s fucking terrifying. He’s become the monster in his story now. 

They all hate Frank, but they fear Monica. Not because she is meaner, or a worse parent. They just all know her disease is hereditary. And every time she wouldn’t get out a bed, or stopped taking her lithium...it was a painful look into a possible future. One that couldn’t be controlled. Frank was his own disease, Monica was………

Fiona always thought it’d be her.

He slips out the back door. He wasted some precious time getting his shit together, and he’s gotta get some distance between him and the house. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” Mickey is suddenly in front of him.

“I...don’t know.” He’s confused. How had Mickey moved that fast.

“You don’t get outta bed for three goddamn days? But I leave for fucking ten minutes and now you're going on some field trip?”

“I’m...I don’t want to...I gotta go Mickey.”

The words feel like more effort than getting dressed was.

“Bullshit. You ain’t fucking goin’ nowhere. Turn that pasty ass around. You’re up now, get in the fucking shower.”

“I can’t stay with you.”

The look on Mickey’s face flits quickly from hurt to rage. 

“You gotta be kidding me.” He says in a low, deadly tone.

“I’m… a mess. A time bomb. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“Really? Hurt me like fucking telling me you're leaving days after I put my entire goddamn life on the line for you?”

“No, like blowing my brains out in the living room one afternoon while you’re at work.”

Mickey jerks back like he’s been hit. 

“That won’t happen. I’ll make fucking sure.”

The anger is almost gone now, but what’s left is worse. Mickey is worried. Terrified. 

Ian has enough energy in him to do one good thing for Mickey. He just has to get Mickey to see it. 

“This isn’t something that will get better. It’ll just get worse. Until it tears me apart. I...don’t want that for you.” 

Mickey doesn’t even know how much effort it is taking just to stand here and fight with him. How it will always be like this. Always. Until it kills him or worse.

“What the fuck do you know what’s gonna happen.” Mickey scoffs. 

“I’ve seen it my whole life - bleeding out on the kitchen floor on Thanksgiving morning. That’s the reality. Any good day will be followed by five fucking horrible ones. I know.” 

“You’re parents are fucking assholes, bi-crazy-the-fuck-ever or not. You’re dad is a fucking prick, and my dad’s a fucking nightmare, and according to the state of Illinois, they’re only addicts. Your mom was an addict too.”

“Yeah, she’d get clean and fuck us up even more. It was easier when she was high because she at least got out a bed then, and wouldn’t burn down the fucking house lighting a hundred candle ‘to make things pretty’….she’s fucking crazy, and I am too.” Ian feels his eyes getting wet. He can’t control fucking anything. 

“Who isn’t?! This is the south side for fuck’s sake!” Mickey screams it with his hands out, gesturing to their depleted surroundings. 

“You deserve better” Ian chokes it out, barely managing to stay standing now. Barely able to not re-curl into the fetal position in the middle of the snow.

“No, I really fucking don’t. I don't care if you won’t get outta bed every third week or want to make pancakes at 4:00 am. I couldn't give two shits about any of it. You're Ian Gallagher, and I’m Mickey Milkovich. It wasn't ever gonna be perfect or great. Hell, around here most people are happy just surviving. But I have you. That’s enough.”

Ian’s legs finally collapse under him, but he doesn't hit the snow. Mickey catches him.


End file.
